


Actions Speak Louder Than Words

by denorios



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Romulan slug is having unforeseen complications for Pike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Christopher Pike isn't entirely sure when he realised that recruiting Jim Kirk into Starfleet was simultaneously the best and worst decision he'd ever made in his life, but, flat on his back in the _Enterprise_'s sickbay, staring up at the blank canvas of the ceiling and idly listening to the young cadet-cum captain-cum pain in the ass arguing with Doctor McCoy, the thought comes back to him with a peculiar intensity.

Kirk's face hoves into view on his left-hand side, battered face flushed with victory and a certain smug pride. His blue eyes are sparkling with that devilish charm that has distracted Pike in more than one way and on more than one occasion. An angry scar curves around one eye, the cheekbone below is red and swollen, and a necklace of finger marks decorates his neck, somehow only serving to lend him the appearance of a particularly rakish space pirate.

"Excuse me, sir?" The blue eyes blink in surprise.

"What?" Startled, Pike struggles to focus his eyes on Kirk. His vision is blurred in one eye, and he closes then opens them both in quick succession in a futile attempt to clear it. McCoy told him it was a side-effect of the drugs keeping the slug fastened to his brain stem immobile until they could reach Earth, but it is proving most distracting, particularly when he's confronted with the vision of two Jim Kirks.

His focus slips again. Two Jim Kirks. Idly he wonders whether the universe could cope with two Kirks. One is headache enough. Although two of them would certainly prove interesting in the bedroom. Not that he was likely to be indulging in any such extracurricular activities anytime soon - pinned on his back, legs useless, like a bug in an entomologist's lab, like the damn bug attached to his brain that's causing all this trouble.

"Captain?"

"What?" Pike struggles to pull himself up, and Kirk leans forward to prevent him, palms flat on Pike's chest. "Did I say that out loud?"

Too close for comfort now, warm hands resting on Pike's abdomen, Kirk nods. His eyes are wide and, damn him, entirely too amused.

"Oh. Fuck."

Pike closes his eyes. Perhaps this is a dream or another hallucination. It wouldn't be the first. McCoy sedated him as soon as they dragged him into sickbay, but he woke up hours later, fists flailing, cursing in nine languages, utterly convinced that he was back on the _Narada_. He wasn't, of course, and the only restraint keeping him pressed to the biobed was his own useless body, but it had been so real.

He cracks one eye open hopefully, but no, Jim Kirk is still there. Dammit.

"Sorry, sir. I can leave if you—"

"No, it's alright, Kirk. It's not you." It is him, of course. He's too young, too much, too close, and damn him, completely out of reac—"Fuck! Doctor!"

McCoy moves into his view alongside Kirk, a swift indecipherable glance passing between them as Kirk steps back slightly to allow McCoy access. He looks awful, five o'clock shadow now apparently extending well into twelve o'clock, dark shadows under his eyes, and he smells like a Klingon brothel. Or what Pike would imagine a Klingon brothel would smell like, had he ever in fact set foot in one.

He supposes he ought to be thanking McCoy – after all, if it wasn't for the doctor Kirk wouldn't even have been aboard the Enterprise, and she'd probably be floating in pieces alongside her six sister-ships right about now as a result. Even so, gratitude aside - and there'll be a time for that later, Pike hopes, as he can think of more than a few ways to express his thanks to Kirk - right now he's more concerned about the apparent lack of filter between his brain and his mouth, as McCoy's mouth tightens and he shoots a dark glower at Kirk as the younger man not-so-subtly sniffs at McCoy.

"I said that out loud again, didn't I?" Kirk nods again, now making no attempt whatsoever to hide his amusement. His wide mouth curves in a smile, and Pike finds his eyes drawn to it, wondering what it would felt like to touch those lips, to move in and feel Kirk's soft breath against his skin…

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Pike clamps his hand over his mouth, eyes slamming shut. "Doctor, please, kill me now."

"Hey, don't do that," Kirk interjects, "not after I went to all the trouble of saving your ass."

Pike lifts his hand from his mouth long enough to demand, "Doctor, what the hell is going on?"

"Bones?" Kirk glances between McCoy and Pike, a concerned frown now furrowing his brow. Concern looks good on him, Pike thinks. Aloud. 'Fuck' just isn't cutting it now, and he switches to cursing steadily and fluently in Andorian.

McCoy pulls out a tricorder and runs it up and down Pike's body, before leaning in to examine the readouts at the head of the biobed. He frowns and pokes at several measurements, muttering something under his breath. In Pike's experience, a person muttering under their breath is never a good sign, but he can't help but wish he could do the same right now, instead of apparently declaring his innermost thoughts to the entire sickbay. And, more importantly, to the one person who really doesn't need any more of a boost to his ego.

"It's that damn slug," McCoy says, frowning, folding his arms and doing his best to ignore the stream of invective coming from the biobed.

Doctor McCoy seems to frown a lot, Pike notes. Although being best friends with Jim Kirk would be enough to etch a permanent frown on anyone's face. He himself is convinced that more than a few of the gray hairs on his head can be directly attributed to Kirk.

"Nah, you were going gray before you met me," Kirk smirks. His hand hovers over Pike's for a moment before settling down firmly, his thumb rubbing gently over Pike's wrist. Pike groans, which of course only serves to make Kirk's smug grin even wider.

"We're keeping it relatively inert, but it's in distress, secreting too much fluid. It's affecting your orbitofrontal cortex, causing what we call frontal lobe disinhibition, Captain." Bones rubs the back of his neck, his frown deepening.

"So basically what you're saying is not only can I not tell a lie, but I now cannot in fact keep the private contents of my head within…my head?" Pike sighs, his head thumping back on the headrest of the biobed. "Great. Can you fix it?"

"Not without removing the slug, and we don't have the facilities for that here, Captain. It's not doing any damage right now—"

"Only to my dignity."

"—so all we can do is wait until we get back to Earth." At least McCoy has the decency to look apologetic. Kirk is still enjoying this whole situation far too much for Pike's liking. He's beginning to wonder what he ever saw in him. Apart from broad strong shoulders, bright blue eyes, a smile that doesn't quit and a certain level of cocky of bravado that reminds him entirely too much of himself at that age for comfort.

"You flatter me, Captain."

That's it. "Out!" Pike bellows. "Both of you. Now."

McCoy visibly stiffens. His shoulders square, his jaw hardens, and he folds his arms again belligerently. "I'm the chief medical officer, Captain," he reminds Pike. "Not even you can order me out of sickbay."

"And you know, technically we're the same rank now," Kirk says thoughtfully. "I'm not sure you can order me out either."

"This is mutiny," Pike warns. "And it's not too late for me to rescind that field commission, Kirk," but it's a half-hearted threat at best, and Kirk just grins. McCoy glances between them, rolls his eyes and huffs, before turning his back and stomping away.

There's a moment of blessed silence, inside and outside of his head, and Pike closes his eyes, suddenly immensely weary. He can still feel Kirk's hand resting on his, warm, heavy and too welcome for words. He turns his hand over and grips Kirk's tightly, palm to palm, grateful for Kirk's silence.

"Don't go," he says, and he hates himself for the neediness he can hear in his own voice. Despite the humiliation, despite the embarrassment, and the apparent open slate that is his own mind, he doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't know how many hours he spent pinned to that slab in the _Narada_, praying for rescue, praying for death, but it was long enough that the last thing he wants right now is for Kirk to leave.

"Are you sure you want me to stay, sir?" He can hear the smile in Kirk's voice. "I'm not sure how many secrets you have left to confess."

"Neither am I, but if you stay long enough I'm sure you'll find out." Pike opens his eyes again. Kirk has drawn up a chair beside the biobed and is leaning against it, elbow propped close to Pike's head. He looks tired, his shoulders rounded and heavy.

Pike rolls sideways slightly and reaches out to touches the pattern of marks on Kirk's neck, gratified to see the younger man shiver slightly at his touch. "How many people tried to strangle you today?" His fingers stroke across the bruises, and he wishes he could soothe them with his lips and tongue.

Another grin, not as brilliant as earlier. "Three. Including Spock." Kirk leans into Pike, his lips almost brushing the captain's ear. His whisper is soft and husky and goes straight to parts of Pike's anatomy that he is suddenly grateful are hidden beneath the medical sheet covering his legs. It's a relief to know they still work, after all. "And I'm pretty sure he's not interested in kissing it better, so if you're offering..."

Pike groans, an obscene sound deep in the back of his throat, and brings his hands up to push Kirk back. His fists twist in the material of Kirk's shirt and Pike finds himself holding him there, inches away from his face, unable to push him away and unwilling to pull him closer. This close his double vision is alarmingly pronounced – Kirk is just a blur of bruised flesh and blue eyes.

"Kirk," he sighs. "Jim. I appreciate your attempts to…lighten my humiliation here, but I really don't need your pity."

Kirk rears back, half-pulling Pike with him until he forces his fists to relax their hold and lies back against the biobed. Kirk is looking at him, hurt writ across his face, and Pike isn't entirely sure how much of it is feigned and how much real. He sometimes suspects that a lot of what Kirk displays in jest are in fact his true feelings – what better way to hide your inner heart than by making everyone see you as a joker, a clown? Or a starship captain.

"You think I pity you? Why the hell would I pity you?" Kirk asks.

"I don't know. I'm stuck in a biobed with useless legs and a Romulan slug attached to my brain; I've got verbal diarrhoea; I've spent the past three days being tortured; I did absolutely nothing to prevent one genocide and damn near enabled another; and I'm probably going to lose my command and my ship to a bloody cadet?" Pike balls his hand into a fist and thumps it down on his leg hard, wishing it hurt more than it did.

Kirk reaches forward to cover Pike's fist with his hand, smoothing Pike's hand out and entwining their fingers. His mouth is tight and hard, his eyes for once betraying no hint of laughter. "You're alive, sir. That might not mean much to you right now, but it means one hell of a lot to me. I risked my neck to save you," and he grins quickly, fingering the bruises around his throat with his free hand. "Literally. And if you think I did all that just to bring you back here for a…a pity fuck, you clearly don't know me as well as you thought."

Dammit. Now he's being earnest. It's far too attractive on him, although if Pike is honest with himself most emotions, expressions, thoughts, desires and impulses are attractive on Kirk.

"You know, being stoic and keeping me at arm's length would work a lot better if you weren't telling me how attractive I am every five minutes," Kirk laughs. He leans forward and props his chin on the back of his wrist, tilting his head so it rests against Pike's hip.

"Ever heard the phrase 'actions speak louder than words'?"

"Yeah, but you're still holding my hand."

Kirk has a point, even though technically he is the one holding Pike's hand, but since Pike has made no move to free himself, he supposes the point still appli— Pike is cut off mid-thought, or perhaps mid-sentence since the two are more or less the same at this juncture, by Kirk's mouth on his, warm and wet, lips hard and demanding against his own. His imprisoned hand is released as Kirk brings his palm up to cradle Pike's face, fingers curling around the back of his neck.

His lips part, and the first touch of Kirk's tongue sliding against his draws a whimper from him and a possessive growl from Kirk that goes straight to Pike's cock. He tilts his head slightly, both hands rising to hold Kirk's head in place and deepen the kiss. Somewhere at the back of his mind air is beginning to become a pressing issue, but it seems a minor concern when balanced against Kirk's fingers curling amongst the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck, Kirk's tongue in his mouth, Kirk's hungry lips on his, Kirk, Kirk, Kirk…

Kirk breaks the kiss but doesn't pull back, resting his forehead against Pike's. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips are wet and kiss-swollen, and his breath is warm and slightly sour against Pike's skin. Pike's hands skim down the side of his face, along his bruised neck and across those strong shoulders, a slow caress that draws a stifled groan from Kirk.

They stare at one another for a long moment before Kirk moves back in for another kiss. This time the kiss is gentle, exploratory, bringing a muffled gasp from Pike as Kirk slides down to scrape his teeth against Pike's neck, to draw his tongue across the hollow of his throat.

"You— oh fuck, Kirk, _Jim_, this is…this is not the best place for—"

"Hmmm?" Kirk hums against Pike's throat and Pike can feel his lips curve in a smile against his skin. "You want me to stop?"

"Fuck—no, yes, I don't—" Pike yelps slightly as Kirk bites him gently in response, before soothing the mark with his tongue. That damn talented tongue. Pike wonders else he can do with it, and from Kirk's knowing chuckle he knows he's spoken aloud again.

There's a rustle at the door and then a less-than-amused cough. Pike looks up, but Kirk just hums again at the back of his throat, his face still hidden in Pike's neck.

"Dammit, Jim, you're still here?" McCoy stands framed in the doorway to the isolation room, his hands on his hips, his customary glower fixed on Kirk. His expression betrays not a flicker of surprise or interest at the scene he's presented with - Pike raised up on one elbow, head thrown back, hand curved around the back of Kirk's neck as Kirk presses soft kisses along Pike's jaw.

"Good God, man, put him down — you need to let the captain rest now. And you could do with some sleep yourself."

Kirk rises to his feet slowly, his body tense and thrumming with heat, his eyes locked on Pike's. He presses Pike's hand firmly in farewell, before turning to leave. At the door to the isolation room he stops, pausing for a long second before McCoy, his lean form poised and tense, before striding back and kissing Pike quickly. "This isn't over," he whispers roughly. Pike barely has a chance to catch his breath before Kirk is gone, past McCoy and out through sickbay.

"That boy," Pike says slowly, his breath returning to normal, "is going to get me into all kinds of trouble."

McCoy glances down at him and for the first time his lips quirk into a smile. "Hmph. Welcome to my life."


End file.
